Prompt #4 response

We pulled up the Japanese Garden and I knew that this was it.  This was where he was going to propose to me.  Earlier in the week, he'd told me he had a plan, but that the ring wasn't going to be ready.  What did I want to do?  I told him to go ahead and I got a ring my grandfather brought home from Vietnam for my mom, had it polished and lent it to him for the big day.  Now, we were finally here.

I ran quickly to the bathroom and when I came out he was on the phone.  He hung up and I offered to grab his camera bag for him out of the back of the car.  It was incredibly heavy.  I wasn't sure why.  We went into the Japanese Garden and wandered around.  It was a beautiful place, but I wasn't really paying attention.  I just kept wondering when he was going to ask.  This had to be it.  Didn't it?  I mean, we'd talked about getting married and he knew my answer.  He had spoken with my dad and gotten his blessing.  Hell, my parents may have loved him more than I did.  (Not really, but it sure could seem like it).

We kept wandering through the park and I was beginning to wonder, was I wrong?  Was this not where he was planning to ask?  I knew we had reservations at our favorite restaurant later.  Was he planning to go cliché and propose at dinner?  How would I handle it if he did it so publicly?  He knows me better than that.  Doesn’t he?

Finally, he suggested we wander up to the oriental gazebo up on the hill. I saw two older couples leaving and realized he must have been waiting for them to clear out of the space.  We entered the shaded space and sat on a bench.  He took his camera bag off his shoulder and unzipped a pocket and pulled out….

His laptop.  What?!  “What are you doing?” I asked, completely confused.

“Just, trust me,” he said, as he booted up the laptop.

“Is that why your bag was so heavy?”

“Yes.”

“Ahh.  I was wondering.”

At this point, he had the laptop booted up and handed it to me, hitting play on Windows Media Player.  I was highly confused, until the video started to play.  Suddenly, I was presented with clips of The West Wing, all starting CJ Cregg and Danny Kincannon.  I smiled.  This had been a metaphor for our relationship since we started dating, since, like Danny, he had asked me out a bunch of times, and like CJ, I finally said yes to one of them (or asked him out, if you believed his version).  We were both huge fans of the show, so it worked out well.  He even brought me goldfish crackers on our first date (but thankfully, not a real goldfish.  My cats would have eaten it). 

The clips ran through all seven seasons, including our favorite CJ and Danny moments.  He sat next to me, watching with me.  Finally, the clips came to a close.  He got down on one knee, on the hard concrete of the gazebo floor and pulled out a beautiful ring box.

He told me how happy I made him and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me.  He asked me if I would marry him.  I couldn’t hold back my smile and barely held back tears.  I said “Yes” immediately.  We kissed.  It was the happiest day of my life.

Prompt 3 Response

“We’ve detected the use of weapons of mass destruction, sir.”

“How many times is that?”

“At least the third noted instance, sir.”

“Run through them for me, would you?”

“Yes sir.  Let’s see, first was the use of a chemical weapon by an aggressor against a defending force.  Second, the use of two nuclear warheads, fairly low yield.  Finally, and most recently, the use of chemical weapons against rebelling forces during a civil war.”

“Well that’s it then.  Prepare to invoke the Wolfram Protocol.  Third strike and they’re out, to use their metaphor.”

“Sir, if I may, there has been some debate that the use of the nuclear weapons may have actually saved tens of thousands of more lives than they cost.”

“Noted.  However, we can’t take a utilitarian view of these things, and you know it.  Once they’ve unleashed that beast, there’s no putting it back in its cage.  Just look at the way it’s affected the last half century.”

“Yes, sir, of course you’re right, but can’t we do something less drastic?  Perhaps if we put in an appearance—“

“And what good would that do?  You’ve seen their cultural output.  There’s every likelihood they’d turn their weapons on us.”

“Yes sir, but with their primitive technology—“

“Enough arguing, Ensign.  The Treaty of Magrathea is clear.  Unchecked aggression cannot be allowed to expand beyond the confines of the planet’s surface.  If they are willing to use such weapons on themselves, they’ll have no qualms about unleashing them on others.  They were given nearly a century to reign themselves in, and multiple chances.  According to the logs, the Protocol was almost unleashed 30 of their cycles ago, when they planned to weaponize space with these things.  But they managed to agree to keep them terrestrially based.  That was the only reason they were allowed to go on this long.

“They have failed to check themselves and so it is our responsibility to do it for them.  It’s the reason we were stationed here.  Now, prepare the Protocol!”

“Yes sir.”  The ensign straightened up and saluted before turning to a nearby panel.  “There appears to be a suitably large asteroid in the belt out between the fourth and fifth planets of this system.  We’ll begin altering its trajectory in towards their orbit.”

The captain nodded.  “Any chance they’ll be able to avoid it?”

The ensign shook his head.  “No sir.  They may not even detect it until it’s too late.  They haven’t invested the resources into planetary defense.  I’m sure they’ll spot it.  But even if they were to detect it as soon as we’ve completed the shift, they lack the technology to do anything about it, their cultural output notwithstanding.  Ironically, the best data we have indicates they’ll probably launch their nuclear weapons at it.  But the asteroid we’re targeting will be too large.”

“Well then,” the captain said, “the only thing for us to do is to make sure that any weapons they do launch either hit the asteroid or some other body within this system.”

“Yes, sir.  By my calculations, the asteroid will hit in this time, next cycle.  It will be an extinction level event.”

“Very well, Ensign.  See to it.  We’ll stick around long enough to make sure everything goes according to plan, then request a new assignment.”

“Yes sir.”

Prompt 2 Response

Reluctantly, he handed over the key. “You realize this is a one way trip.” It was a statement, not a question. His voice sounded more resigned than upset, and it’s probably because we’d had this discussion numerous times over the past six months.

“Yes, Ted, I know. I knew it last week, I knew it last month, I knew it last year when I applied for the program.” I ran my hand through my hair, shoving it out of my eyes, where it had fallen. It always seemed to fall into my eyes when I was frustrated, and right now, I was really frustrated.

When I first applied for this opportunity, Ted had been supportive. Of course, he had applied with me. I’m not sure if he expected that we’d both be accepted, or whether he hoped we’d both be rejected. But neither situation had come to pass. Instead, I had made it. He hadn’t.

I couldn’t believe it when the envelope arrived with my acceptance. It was even more unbelievable than the news, two years prior, that the European Space Agency had discovered a wormhole hidden inside the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter. Long theorized, these strange phenomena were thought to link far distant parts of the universe, allowing interstellar travel without the long commute times.

Immediately, NASA had re-purposed a probe that was due to explore Neptune and sent it into the wormhole. The world waited for seven anxious months. The probe returned images of an earth-like planet, and all the readings indicated it could support human life. NASA and the ESA partnered up to send an unmanned rover to explore the new world. But private industry wasn’t waiting around.

Eccentric billionaire Wayne Nevins, founder of the first successful space tourism company, put out a call for volunteers to explore and settle this new-found world. Unlike his commercial space-flights, this trip would be covered by the company, but those who went would have to commit to staying. Despite this condition, hundreds of thousands of people volunteered, Ted and I among them.

I never really expected to be selected. I assumed that they’d want biologists and engineers, botanists and chemists, cartographers and archeologists. I could understand taking photographers, journalists, and even farmers. I’m still not sure why they wanted a poet. But that’s how Nevins made his billions. By seeing things other people didn’t and taking chances that others thought foolish. That was certainly Ted’s view when I got my acceptance and he didn’t.

I can still remember the fight we had that night. It was a fight that had extended for the following five months. Finally, about a month ago, the fight had gone out of him. I think he realized that I wasn’t changing my mind. He tried to make the best of things for our last month together, but his heart wasn’t in it. I had felt him drawing away from me. I would have fought harder, but I realized that it was probably for the best for both of us, if I could leave with a clean break.

So here I was, key in hand, ready to walk out the door. Ready to walk off the planet. I’d been a professional writer for my entire adult life, but I couldn’t think of any words to say. Goodbye seemed both too little and all too final.

So I left without saying anything at all.

Response to Prompt 1

                Being the chosen one sucks.  It means you don’t really get a childhood.  Oh sure, you have a few carefree years running around with the other kids, playing like some normal child.  But eventually, usually around the time puberty hits, you are forced to abscond from everything familiar, everything you know and love, and go on some grand adventure, usually with a bunch of people you don’t know, who tell you that growing up on the farm was a huge mistake, or for your protection, and you’re the subject of some prophecy, or a long lost heir to a far-away kingdom.  As if puberty didn’t suck enough all on its own.

                No, now you gotta spend your days running and your nights hiding, learning to fight or govern, or some complex system of magic because, it turns out, the whole world is riding on your shoulders.  Does anyone ever stop and think what that sort of pressure does to a kid?  I mean, there are full-grown adults who can’t handle the pressures of their work-a-day lives, let alone being the savior of all mankind.  And now, you gotta shoulder it at the tender age of 13?  And that’s if you’re lucky.  Some start even earlier, if the storybooks are to be believed.

                Now, don’t get me wrong – there are definitely some perks.  You get to run a kingdom and everyone jumps to obey your every command (once you’ve been crowned).  Often, you get to master the arcane arts and shape the very fabric of reality to your whim.  But typically, there’s some archmage, evil emperor or warped demi-god who’s out for your blood.  And the perks typically only come if you survive.  Now, sure, there’s a prophecy that says everything’s gonna go your way, but you can’t really count on that, can you?  I mean, if you could, the guy on the other side wouldn’t even bother showing up to the final battle, because all hope would be lost for him.  And even if you CAN count on the prophecy, all it says is that you’re gonna win.  It doesn’t say anything about you surviving, or coming out the other side unscathed.  I’ve seen some pretty righteous cases of PTSD in my short life.  In fact, the guy teaching me how to swing a sword seems to be rocking a pretty bad case and he’s only fought in some minor battles.

                Perhaps the most unfair thing about the whole situation is that it’s not balanced.  Presumably, the emperor, archmage or demi-god on the other side got to have a childhood and grow into their evil ways.  It’s not like there’s some dark prophecy that says they’re gonna go off and overthrow my ancestor, causing me to go into hiding (or if there is, no one’s told me about it).  But come on – whose ever heard of a tiny tyrant who threatens to take over the world?  No one, that’s who.  The teenager always has to go up against the guy in the height of his power, who’s had years to hone his skills.  Meanwhile, I’ll be lucky to have a year to learn how to wield a sword and magic well enough to somehow scrape by against someone with a lifetime of experience.  How, exactly, is this a good deal for me?

                In the end, I respect the role I have to play.  I mean, what’s my option?  Go back to the farm and let the bad guy win?  You think he’s gonna leave me be?  Of course not.  Still, in many ways, I envy the boys I grew up with back on the farm.  They get a couple more years of irresponsibility and goofing off before they go off to an apprenticeship, or get more important roles in the daily life of the farm.  And the biggest decision they’ll ever have to make is whether to plant corn or barley.  They’ll likely never know that the fates of their entire lives rest on my narrow shoulders.  They’ll pick up a hoe instead of a sword.  They’ll get to marry the girl they’ve grown up knowing, rather than the stuck up princess they just met.  Yeah – I miss life on the farm.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a demi-god to kill.